The Rose Garden
by Marianne Greenleaf
Summary: Marian Paroo encounters Harold Hill during a town picnic in Mr. Madison's rose gardens, and can't help loathing him just a little bit less.
1. A Bad Beginning

_A/N - I had a charming dream about Harold attempting to court Marian in a rose garden, and developed this little vignette from it. This takes place after Being in Love/My White Knight and before the Wells Fargo Wagon._

XXX

_I won't send roses or hold the door  
I won't remember which dress you wore  
And should I love you, you would be the last to know  
I won't send roses and roses suit you so  
~Mack Sennett, in the beginning of Mack & Mabel_

XXX

_July 1912_

One of the few things that Marian Paroo looked forward to was the annual rose garden picnic. After Uncle Maddy passed away and left the majority of his property and fortune to River City, the townspeople had established this event in his honor – even as they continued to perpetually refer to him as _Old Miser Madison_ in casual conversation. As Henry Madison was renowned for the beautiful rose gardens blanketing his estate, it was determined that this would be the best possible location for such a memorial.

While Marian was often excluded from town events that didn't require musical assistance, she was always invited to this particular occasion. As much as Mrs. Shinn and the other ladies personally disliked her, even they respected Mr. Madison's well-known friendship with the Paroo family. It would have been bad form to include only her mother and brother, so the librarian perforce received an invitation.

But even so, Marian wasn't about to impose her company on those who did not appreciate her presence. The moment she deemed it polite, she would find a secluded alcove and spend the rest of the picnic there. It was especially important to disappear this year – the odious Harold Hill was in attendance. And he was the center of attention as usual, playing to the delighted throngs that surrounded him. It was positively revolting, how they all hung on to his every little word.

But as the librarian watched the spectacle from the edge of the crowd, she felt the most disconcerting pangs of jealousy. The salesman had arrived to River City only a few weeks ago, and was being fêted and celebrated as if he was a native-born son. Whereas she had been here for a good five years, and had no friends at all. It especially stung to watch how they all fawned over Harold Hill because Marian remembered exactly how it felt to belong somewhere. She had enjoyed friendship and even popularity back in Cincinnati, the city of her birth. But as long as she had to look after her mother and brother, there was no chance of her ever leaving River City. In all likelihood, she would probably languish in this wretched little town until she died, friendless and unloved.

As Marian contemplated the bleakness of her future, the tears that had been massing behind her gaze threatened to spill over the rims of her eyes. Tilting her head back slightly and blinking until the uncomfortable sensation faded, she decided to find that private alcove right now, even though she had only just arrived and had yet to exchange the barest of pleasantries with anyone. She _needed_ to find that alcove, so she could take solace in the few pleasant memories she had of River City. What did it matter if she disappeared from the main party? No one would miss her. They had plenty of entertainment from the bombastic flimflam man.

Leaving everyone to promenade around the gardens without her, Marian opened her parasol to shield her face from the view of any bothersome passerby, and made her way down the nearest path leading away from the locus of activity. But when she reached her alcove and lowered her parasol at last, she saw that she wasn't the only one who'd had the pressing inclination to shy away from social interaction.

Thankfully, it was the one person whose company she always welcomed, regardless of her mood. Her brother Winthrop sat on the ground next to the largest rose bush, staring intensely at it, as if it held the answer to something very important. He didn't look as glum as he usually did, but his expression was still profoundly pensive.

Marian didn't expect much of anything to come of her inquiry but, as a loving and concerned older sister, she had to ask. "What is it, Winthrop?"

He turned to face her. "When will my cornet come?"

Marian was too startled to be angry at this reminder of "Professor" Hill's chicanery. This was the most Winthrop had spoken to her in the last several weeks. And he was looking directly at her! She couldn't spoil such a promising moment with her misgivings. So she gave her little brother a warm and encouraging smile. "Soon, I suppose."

When he turned toward the bush again, she gently asked, "May I join you, Winthrop?"

Without looking at her, he nodded. But Marian was not disappointed. When she sat down, he curled up next to her and laid his head in her lap, just like he used to do when he was a very little boy. As she tenderly smoothed his disheveled russet locks back from his forehead and he drifted off to sleep, she stared at the beautiful roses and lost herself in daydreams. This was her favorite part of the gardens. She and Uncle Maddy would stroll and converse here, often for hours at a time. He was a precise, orderly, and thorough man, and had kept the gardens in tiptop shape in those days. Now that he was gone, they were a bit wilder, though no less gorgeous.

But Marian had taken great pains with her appearance today, out of respect to his dear memory. She wore her new pale pink silk gown trimmed with lace, which had the most darling clusters of ribbon roses at her shoulders. She had even set her hair in banana curls. And yet, it seemed like such a pointless and futile exercise. Why did she bother to dress so nicely, when there was not a single soul – a living one, anyway – to appreciate it?

As if Providence had heard her lament, Marian suddenly became conscious that she was being watched. Looking toward the entrance to the alcove, she spotted none other than Harold Hill. And he was staring intently at her, as if transfixed to the spot. It was unnerving, how quiet and unassuming he could be, when he actually tried.

Normally, the librarian would have made a cutting remark and stormed off. But her dear brother was sleeping so peacefully in her lap that she didn't have the heart to disturb him.

"What do you want, Mr. Hill?" she asked warily.

He came right over and knelt down next to her. "My apologies for disturbing you, Miss Marian," he said in a low voice. "I was merely enjoying the gardens, and didn't mean to intrude."

To her surprise, he sounded sincere. But as ever, his words and actions were at cross purposes with each other. Although he spoke like a gentleman, he'd essentially cornered her where she sat. Even though she was careful to regard him with an aloof side glance, she couldn't help breathing in the alluring essence of Sen-Sen, bay rum, and sandalwood soap that had bewitched her at the library. She also couldn't help thinking about the recent conversation she'd had with her mother about being in love. All of these factors made her even more unsettled by Harold Hill's inexorable proximity, even though she knew she was most certainly _not_ in love with him!

And it certainly didn't help her tenuous sense of composure when the salesman's warm breath tickled her ear as he continued speaking to her in that mesmerizing purr of his. "You look especially lovely today, Madam Librarian, if I may say so. But then, you're always beautiful." His fingers snaked out and traced the rose on her left shoulder. "Stylish, too."

To Marian's great annoyance, she felt far more flattered by his remarks than she ought to be. While Harold Hill wasn't the first man who'd ever commented on her beauty, he was the first who gave her butterflies when he did so. None of the very few men she had fallen in love with ever complimented her in such a bald-faced manner. Given that they were teachers or other pillars of the community, they had cared far more about the soundness of her brain and the uprightness of her character, rather than the aesthetics of her appearance. Which was just as it should be!

Marian knew that she must put a stop to this, before he was emboldened to take even further liberties. "Do not speak of such things, Mr. Hill," she coldly commanded, turning her head completely away from him. "It isn't decorous or decent."

There was an awkward silence. She dared not look at him, even when he chuckled and said, in the most self-effacing voice she'd ever heard from him, "I suppose I deserved that one – especially after chasing you in the library the way I did."

Marian was startled into looking at him – and immediately regretted it, as he took it as encouragement. Grinning and leaning even closer, he said, "You know, I _was_ hoping we'd have the opportunity to talk alone today. I wanted to give this to you – I knew it was perfect the moment I saw it."

He held up a pale pink rose between them – the exact same shade as her gown. Enchanted, Marian reached out to take the blossom from Harold Hill. When her fingers accidentally brushed his, she felt the most horrible jolt of delight run through her. Before he could take advantage of her blunder, she hastily moved her hand to grip a different part of the stem – too hastily, as she pricked herself on a thorn.

With a cry, Marian pulled her hand away to examine it. To her chagrin, she was bleeding. Before she could think of how to dress the wound without jostling Winthrop or, heaven forbid, staining her new gown, the salesman took out that terribly gaudy pink handkerchief of his and pressed it to her finger.

As he gently wrapped the cloth around her hand to further secure it in place, Marian swallowed and tried not to tremble. She was being touched. By one of the most handsome men she had ever met. And he thought she was beautiful. She had ached so much to experience a moment like this. Harold Hill was _not_ her white knight, and never would be. But maybe, just for a moment, she could let herself pretend…

But just as their eyes met, the spell was broken. "Thister?" said a bleary voice. Winthrop sat up, rubbing his eyes.

Marian was too mortified to speak. Fortunately, Harold Hill's tongue was never tied. "Well, hello son! Did you have a nice nap?"

His voice was far too jolly and booming, and reverberated uncomfortably through the small alcove. If Marian hadn't known better, she would have thought he was deeply disappointed by the interruption.

In response, Winthrop just looked the salesman, and then at his and Marian's still-entwined hands. Before the librarian could recover her powers of speech, her brother leaped to his feet and ran away.

Furious at her near-capitulation to Harold Hill's insidious siren song, Marian shoved his handkerchief back at him and rose swiftly to her feet, batting the salesman's hands away when he tried to help her up.

When they were both standing, she whirled around to face him. "You ruin every single thing you touch. I wish you'd never come to River City!"

The librarian's harsh denouncement would have been a lot more effective if her voice hadn't cracked on _River_. Initially as she spoke, the salesman looked stricken and even ashamed, as if she had actually succeeded in piercing his facade of glib confidence at last. But when her composure cracked, Harold Hill's eyes softened in both dismay and sympathy, and he reached out as if he wanted nothing more than to enfold her in his arms.

Now thoroughly embarrassed, Marian turned away and hastened home. He didn't follow her. Because he knew as well as she did that none of this was real. And she'd do well to remember that the next time she found herself cornered by him.

Although the librarian was alone in the house, she would not allow herself to cry. Instead, she focused the strength of her entire will on disinfecting and bandaging her wound. These ministrations both soothed and steadied her, and she thought she had almost completely recovered her self-control – until she realized that she forgot her parasol.

Even though it was absolutely ridiculous of her, Marian burst into tears. And the tears just kept on coming, a great deal of them, until her body was wracked with sobs. It simply wasn't fair that Harold Hill should make her _want_ so much – not him, exactly, but everything he promised. Not just the lights, the colors, the cymbals, and the flags, but the electrifying touch of a man who wanted her. A man who would hold her close, and kiss her deeply, and caress her ardently, and… and she refused to go any further in her imagination than that. It was much too dangerous.

There was only one thing Marian could do to put a stop to this perilous path she was headed down. She had known exactly what Harold Hill was, ever since he came to town. Now, she had to find the irrefutable proof that would make everyone else in River City see the truth. She had a library full of books – it was time to do some comprehensive research on the academic credentials of the salesman who claimed to be an alumnus of Gary Conservatory of Music, "Gold Medal Class of Aught-Five!"

By the time her mother and brother returned home, Marian's eyes were dry, but the raw, gnawing ache in her heart remained. Still, she managed to keep her composure when, with a gleam in her eye, Mama handed her the forgotten parasol – along with the rose and a handwritten note from Harold Hill that assured her it had been thoroughly dethorned.

Accepting the parasol, rose, and note without comment, the librarian withdrew to her bedroom. After tearing up the note into tiny pieces and letting it flutter out of her tower window like confetti, she placed the rose in a porcelain keepsake jar on her vanity and pressed the loose petals that had fallen from it in between the pages of Balzac. Somehow, she could not bring herself to throw it away. It was such a beautiful blossom, and it had been one of Uncle Maddy's prized specimens. Never mind who gave it to her!

If anything, keeping the rose made the librarian even more determined to stop the fly-by-night salesman in his tracks. She must force him to leave town, lest her loneliness and longing lead her to do anything monumentally foolish. It was far better to end up an old maid, rather than a fallen woman!

Marian was firmly resolved. She would start her campaign to unmask Harold Hill for what he truly was tomorrow. Tonight – just tonight – she would let herself pretend that the rose was a gift from her white knight.


	2. A Happy Ending

_I promise you a happy ending__  
__Like the ones that you see on the screen__  
__So if you've had a bad beginning__  
__Love will come out winning in the closing scene__  
__I can promise you a happy ending__  
__That has you, loving me, loving you  
__~Mack Sennett, at the end of Mack & Mabel_

XXX

_July 1913_

This year's rose garden picnic at Uncle Maddy's estate couldn't have been more different. Not only was the librarian proud to call herself Marian Paroo Hill, she and Harold had a little one well on the way. Given that she was six months along, everyone fully understood when the music professor did not leave her side. Nor was the librarian pulled away to converse endlessly with the ladies. Instead, they often came over to speak with her, and were exceedingly solicitous of her health and well-being.

Fortunately, the weather was delightful and the little one wasn't resting in an uncomfortable position, so Marian felt almost perfectly at ease. She could even say she felt wonderful. In the guise of assisting her and seeing to her comfort, Harold could touch her more than was usually considered proper, even for a married couple – resting his hand on the small of her back, wrapping his arm around her waist as they strolled together, leaning in and whispering tender endearments in her ear. Ever one to take full advantage of a situation, Harold did all of these. In return, Marian shamelessly nestled into his embrace, reveling in the fullness of her joy. The librarian had come a long way from being a lonely spinster outcast. She was a happy wife with a devoted husband, possessed more friends and acquaintances than she'd had back in Cincinnati, and was soon to be a mother. Not only did she belong in River City, she was _loved_. Her heart was so full of happiness she thought it might burst. She had previously thought this kind of conceit was nothing but a silly metaphor, but was delighted to find that such dizzying euphoria was actually possible.

Still, even with all the liberties in manner they were allowed, husband and wife soon craved more privacy to indulge in heavier canoodling. Merely an hour after their arrival to the picnic, Harold steered the librarian toward that little alcove. True to form, he'd come well prepared, with a blanket and basket full of snacks. After ensuring that Marian was comfortably seated and that her hunger and thirst were sated, he took her in his arms and kissed her long and deep. While they could not be as free and unbridled in their embrace as they were at the faraway field, Harold did not hesitate to avidly move his mouth over her cheeks, down the line of her jaw and neck, all the way to the tops of her breasts. As Marian gasped her encouragement of his tender ministrations, his hands gently but possessively cradled her rounded stomach. It was absolutely exquisite to be loved like this, far better than any paltry daydream of white knights.

The one, trifling regret Marian had was that she could not wear her pink rose gown this year, due to the increased girth of her waistline. Instead, she chose the ensemble she'd donned when Harold took her to the faraway field for her birthday last month – a beautiful but comfortable pale green gown trimmed with Valenciennes lace. Hoping to forego another forgotten parasol incident, she had declined to carry one. Instead, atop her head was a matching green hat, also trimmed with lace, as well as a pink ribbon and a spray of pink-and-white roses. Harold had helped her into this ensemble that morning and, as his hands caressed her both skillfully and lovingly, she thrilled to reflect how the two of them had transformed from adversarial strangers to dear friends and passionate lovers. She wasn't alone in the world any longer, and neither was he.

As if in celebration of their union, the gardens were extra beautiful this year. Not only was Marian included in the pruning of the roses last September, the ladies respectfully deferred to her instructions about maintaining the gardens according to Mr. Madison's standards. Harold and the boys' band also helped with the cleanup, doing the lion's share of the labor with the ladies supervising. After a long and tiring day of landscaping, Marian diligently tended to the scratches on the music professor's hands in her mother's kitchen. As Mama had tactfully left the two of them alone – hoping for a marriage proposal, no doubt – the librarian's doctoring soon progressed to affection as she pressed gentle kisses to her beau's bruised fingertips, until he pulled her into his arms for a long and lovely embrace that left her panting and breathless.

When Marian reminisced about this memory with Harold, he leaned in and confessed in the low, velvety purr that still gave her the most delightful butterflies, even after eight months of marriage, "I wanted so badly to take a bath with you that night, my dear little librarian. But tonight, we certainly can."

She laughed, even as she shivered in happy anticipation. "Will we both even fit in the tub?"

"We'll find a way," he promised. "And if we can't spoon together, I can still enjoy undressing you, watching you bathe, and then drying you off _very_ thoroughly afterward."

"As long as I can watch _you_ bathe, in return," she said provocatively.

He groaned, his warm breath delightfully tickling her bare neck. She thought he might give her a love-bite, but instead, he seemed to be in the mood for more reminiscing. "Oh, Marian, I can't tell you how happy it makes me, to see you like this. Last year, you were so tightly wound up, like a rosebud that desperately wanted to bloom but couldn't. I wanted nothing more than to make you smile."

As much as his words touched her heart, she was still in a rather mischievous mood. "And is that all you wanted to do, _Mister_ Hill?"

He lifted his head to look directly at her. "Well, in all honesty, I wanted to make love to you. Not only because I wanted you – I did, desperately – but because I wanted your beautiful eyes to shine with happiness, even if only for a moment. I spent a good fifteen minutes looking for that rose before I came to find you."

Tears came to Marian's eyes. She cried so easily these days, due to her condition. But even if she wasn't pregnant, she would have been similarly undone by his unvarnished candor. "I kept your rose," she admitted in a tremulous voice. "Even the petals that fell off – I pressed them in between the pages of Balzac."

Looking just as deeply affected, Harold reached into the inside breast pocket of his suitcoat and brought out a handkerchief – not one of the elegant monogrammed ones she had given to him last Christmas, but the gaudy pink thing she detested.

Before she could protest, he smiled – that soft, sweet, self-effacing smile he only ever showed to her. "Now, Madam Librarian, I know this isn't your favorite piece of cloth. But this handkerchief has become just as dear to me as my rose is to you." He showed her the corner, which was still dotted with a few reddish-brown drops. "These never fully came out in the wash, although truth be told, I can't say I tried very hard to get rid of them. So this handkerchief seen your blood, as well as your tears. Even before I got my foot caught in the door, I meant to keep it, as a memento of our time together."

Her heart warming a great deal toward that silly piece of cloth, Marian smiled as her husband gently brushed her tears away with said handkerchief. She suspected they were both remembering how he had also used it that chilly November day in the cornfield to soak up the remnants of her sobs after she told him what happened in the ancient history aisle.

When Harold was done drying her cheeks, he cupped one of them in his hand. His Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat, he continued, "I know I must have hurt you even more than you already were that day, and I wanted so badly to follow you home and comfort you, but I had nothing real that I could offer, at the time. But now that I do, I'm planning to spend the rest of my life making you feel as loved and cherished as you can possibly be. As you _deserve_ to be."

Beaming warmly at him, Marian stroked his cheek in return and paid him the highest compliment she could muster. "I'm happier than I ever hoped or dreamed I could be. And it's all because of what you brought to me, to my brother, and to River City. I'm so glad you're _you_, Harold."

Looking utterly undone, the music professor closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. "Oh, Marian," he sighed, "I wasn't going to ask this of you, but I've been thinking about it all day… "

"Ask," she urged in a tone that was far more avid than nervous, even though she knew how wickedly inventive he could be when it came to lovemaking. _Especially_ because she knew how ingenious he could be.

Harold leaned in so close that his lips brushed her ear, and spoke in a heated whisper that sent the most delicious shivers from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, "I want this handkerchief to collect something else of yours. Would you use it, after we make love?"

It was nothing short of stunning, how he could take the basest idea and make it seem not only desirable, but the most poignant gesture of love. Even in her wildest daydreams of yore, she never could have imagined engaging in such an act – let alone finding it arousing! But Marian was so aroused that she was on the verge of recklessly suggesting that he pass her the handkerchief _right now_, as she certainly could give him exactly what he was looking for.

However, before she could so much as open her mouth, Winthrop burst in on them. Though husband and wife were sitting very close and Harold's arm was wrapped around her waist, their embrace was not _too_ untoward for an eleven-year-old boy to witness. However, the librarian's thoughts were far too dangerously muddled for her to attempt to speak. And she was both charmed and concerned to realize that her dashing music professor couldn't seem to muster up his usual silver tongue, either.

Fortunately, they didn't have to break the rather awkward silence. "Profether! Thister!" Winthrop said breathlessly, his lisp in full force. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. Me and the other kids are playing hide and seek and I'm It." To Marian's delight, he sounded proud about this.

Harold chuckled, sounding so untroubled that her younger brother was immediately put at ease. "Well son, I can't say I've seen or even heard any of the others nearby." He looked inquiringly at the librarian. "How about you, darling?"

Still not quite trusting herself to speak without a tremor in her voice, Marian smiled apologetically and shook her head. Later, she would chide herself for not correcting her brother's atrocious grammar. At present, all she could think of was how fortunate it was that Harold had the presence of mind to whisper his request! Even if there were children quietly concealed in the nearby bushes, they would not have been able to overhear it.

"I'll try looking by the gazebo, then," Winthrop said, cheerfully unaware of the undercurrents that still smoldered between husband and wife. "See you both later!"

After he dashed off, Harold let out another chuckle and turned toward Marian with a gaze that was both sheepish and hopeful. "With all the 'little pitchers' potentially in the vicinity, I suppose we ought to wait, and discuss this matter tonight?"

"Yes, I suppose we ought," she agreed, giving him a smile that was both sweet and inviting. However, unwilling to change the subject just yet, she leaned in to press her lips against his ear. "But I have to know – did you mean for me to use the handkerchief after you made love to me with your mouth… or in earnest?"

Harold swallowed audibly. "My mouth. The latter would be rather… tainted."

Marian pulled away to look at him, and was delighted to see that he looked as hopelessly besotted with her as she felt about him. "Harold," she said softly, "I'm so glad that you came to River City."

"Me, too, Marian," he said wholeheartedly. "Meeting you allowed me to become the man I never thought I could actually be." After giving her a kiss that was brief but promised so much more to come later, when they could be absolutely sure of privacy, he placed his hands on her stomach. As if the baby had been waiting for its father's touch, it started wriggling around.

"Well hello, little one," Harold said happily, bending down to bestow a kiss on the squirming little bump. "Your mother and I can't wait to welcome you into the world."

Stretching out and laying his head in Marian's lap, the music professor nestled his cheek against the curve of her stomach and continued to croon sweetly to their unborn child. Even though the evening seemed a long while away yet, the librarian was more than content to stroke her husband's wavy tresses, gaze at the gorgeous roses that surrounded them, and dream of not just what was in store for them tonight and tomorrow, but also of all of the lovely yesterdays they had piled up together so far. The happiness she had yearned so greatly for was a long time in coming and, now that it was finally here, she meant to savor every last bit of it.


	3. Happier Still

_The wedding of Jane Edna Peabody and James Robert Hearst took place in Mr. Madison's renowned rose gardens. Although the estate had long since passed to new ownership, the gardens were kept in tiptop shape, and continued to be a source of pride and pleasure for the River City-ziens. Indeed, Jane wasn't the first bride to be married among the roses, and she wouldn't be the last.  
~From Spinster to Wife, Marianne Greenleaf_

_Marian had gotten remarkably good at keeping secrets – and with good reason, because before meeting and marrying Harold, she'd never truly realized just how enjoyable secrets could be.  
~A Stolen Moment, Carolina Nadeau_

XXX

_June 1926_

As Marian witnessed the marriage of two of her dearest friends, her eyes met Harold's, and she found herself falling in love with him all over again.

It was foolish, really, that she continued to experience such a girlish phenomenon after thirteen years of marriage and three children. But here she was, with flushed cheeks and butterflies roiling pleasantly in the pit of her stomach as she contemplated the hungry gleam in her husband's gaze. For he was staring steadily at her, as if he wanted to eat her up right then and there.

It had taken Marian so many years to stop blushing when he gave her _that_ look in public. And even now, she didn't always succeed in keeping the color from rising to her cheeks. She certainly couldn't manage such a tremendous feat of poise on this particular occasion – when she recalled the heated request he whispered in her ear earlier that morning, her inner thighs tingled to feel the sweet secret that presently lingered between the two of them: his favorite pink handkerchief, the one he'd dangled in front of her when they first met and subsequently wrapped her finger in when she pricked it on a rose, tucked carefully and snugly beneath her drawers.

And she knew that Harold was remembering that exact same moment. After her keen ears perceived Jane slipping out of the house for an early-morning constitutional with her husband-to-be, Marian wiggled her hips and turned suggestively in her husband's arms to find him already awake and grinning at her. A master of seizing the moment, he rolled her onto her back and scooted down to bury his head in her lap. As he made her come with his clever fingers and tongue, she heard the whistle of the early-morning train while it passed through the depot, and she almost couldn't stop herself from screaming her pleasure aloud. Even after thirteen years together, it still thrilled her to know that of all the places in the world he could have chosen to go, he'd rather be here doing this with her.

After Paris, the librarian had no compunction telling her music professor such thoughts, once his body rose to cover hers. And as he slid inside her with the most delicious of moans – she would never tire of that beautiful baritone crooning into her ear – _he_ had no compunction whispering his latest scheme to bring a little novelty and danger to their lovemaking.

Admittedly, Marian was a bit scandalized at first, as she wasn't quite sure that someone else's wedding was the proper occasion for them to play out one of their erotic fancies. Not that such an unorthodox request was appropriate anywhere else, either – and that was precisely what made his idea so wickedly exciting. She _did_ feel a jolt of the most intoxicating pleasure deep between her thighs as she contemplated his notion which, in midst of such intimate congress, he most certainly perceived.

Harold paused the motion of his hips against hers and propped himself up on his elbows to grin persuasively at her. "I would've waited until the annual rose garden picnic in July, but tonight's going to be a full moon. And since even I can't figure out a way for us to get away with making love in that rose garden tonight, I thought this would be the next best thing."

"You didn't!" Marian laughed, but in delight rather than censure.

"I'd never miss an opportunity to make you melt," he assured her. To illustrate his point, he pulled away and thrust into her again. "I was already planning to flirt shamelessly with you as often as I can today. And every time you _do_ melt, I want to know about it… "

As Harold's hips continued to move ardently and adeptly in time with hers, Marian's head lolled back and her eyes squeezed shut as she did indeed melt into his embrace. And so she found herself blithely and eagerly agreeing to her husband's latest erotic scheme.

Later that morning, when they were dressing for the ceremony, Marian donned a lovely coral silk crepe chiffon dress with beaded embroidery and flowing sleeves. It wasn't one of her stunning Paris originals, as she didn't want to overshadow the bride, but it was still elegant enough for a wedding. She hadn't worn this frock for quite a while – not since the September that Harold had led the first boys' band parade upon their return from overseas. But this time, she made sure to tuck the gaudy pink handkerchief into her drawers, just as Harold requested. As the librarian assessed her reflection and meticulously placed a matching cloche hat on top of her freshly set curls, she caught sight of the music professor regarding her with an oddly pensive stare. When she turned and gave him a gently inquisitive look, he came right over, buried his face in the crook of her neck, and told her with the most poignant depth of feeling that he'd never wanted her so badly as he did right now.

And now, as Marian stood staring at her still-ardent husband while Jane Edna Peabody and Jim Hearst sweetly exchanged their vows, she felt herself growing similarly misty-eyed not only to see her dear friends so well and happily matched, but also to contemplate that she had made such a marvelous marriage for herself.

Fortunately, all the other attendees' attentions were wholly focused on the bride and groom, so no one noticed the heated glances that Professor and Mrs. Hill kept sneaking at each other. And even if they had, such salacious exchanges wouldn't have registered as something to pay much attention to, as it certainly was no secret that the music professor and librarian were so scandalously in love almost from the moment he came to town.

Still, given their eminent social standing and assigned leadership roles – in the absence of any living parents or guardians, the Hills were the de facto hosts of the Peabody-Hearst wedding – Harold and Marian couldn't simply dash off to be alone together once the ceremony concluded, as they always did during the annual rose garden picnics. And so they retained an admirable veneer of civility well into the evening: mingling with the guests, overseeing the order of events, guiding everyone through the dinner and dancing, and all the other responsibilities that came with ensuring an enjoyable reception.

But once the sun fully set and the Hearsts finally departed to their honeymoon, the music professor and librarian seized the temptation to engage in a little connubial bliss of their own. Harold had made arrangements for Penny, Elly, and Robert to spend the night with their grandmother, so when he whisked Marian to their favorite trysting spot, she had no qualms about their behaving like besotted teenagers without care or duty.

However, after so many years of picnics, they had developed a few private niceties that lent a lovely sense of tradition to their rendezvous. Before they began to canoodle in earnest, Harold picked the librarian a rose that was the exact same shade of coral as her dress. As she carefully grasped the stem in an area that was absent of thorns, his fingers lingered tantalizingly over hers, and she tingled at his touch just as much as she had the first time he'd ever gifted a rose to her. (Admittedly, a large part of this sensation was aroused from his leaning in and giving her the most exquisite love-bite on the side of her neck as soon as his fingers closed over hers.)

Before things could get too hot and heavy between them, Marian broke their embrace and carefully tucked the coral rose into her reticule. It would be another bloom for her collection, a cherished token of another sweet little game that they had cultivated over the past thirteen years. Ever since he'd picked that pink rose for her, the librarian took care to choose gowns in hues that matched the flowers, so the music professor could give her a rose to match her ensemble every single time they attended an event held in the gardens. She had a whole trunk full of them by now; carefully preserved, labeled, and stored with each corresponding gown as additional tangible reminders of how deeply and well she was loved.

As soon as Marian ensured the conservation of her latest precious rose, she turned her full attention back to her husband, who was regarding her with the soft, self-effacing, affectionate smile he only ever showed when they were alone. He looked so delicious beneath the bewitching moonlight that she gave him her sly, sideways, secret smile that was just for him and asked, "Do you want your handkerchief back _now_, Mister Hill?"

Harold groaned and closed his eyes as if he was indeed considering it, before finally replying, "I'll get it from you later tonight, when I'm undressing you at home. Because I'm not done making you melt _just_ yet, Madam Librarian… "

"I don't suppose we could find a way to make love here someday," she said breathlessly in between the hungry kisses that followed.

His mouth stilled in its mission to explore every inch of her face, neck, and décolletage, and Marian felt another electric tingle ripple through the entire length of her body as his face lit up with the most devilishly gleeful grin. She loved watching him scheme, seeing the wheels turn furiously in his clever and agile mind. If anyone could ever find a way to make such a scandalous tryst possible, he was the man to do it.

"Well, as a matter of fact," he began with the manic expression that never failed to enchant her, "we could consider – "

Marian placed her hand over his mouth until he quieted. "Don't tell me a single word, darling – not yet. I want to _think_ about it first."

Harold gave her _that_ look. "Oh my dear little librarian – I'm so glad I came to River City," he said exultantly, before his mouth claimed hers in another ravenous kiss. "How is that rose doing?"

Marian knew he wasn't talking about the one in her reticule. "Thoroughly melted," she confirmed. Though her cheeks were flushed as crimson as the roses surrounding them, it was from excitement rather than shame.

He grinned. "Always a lady from the ground up – and I wouldn't have it any other way. Let's go home, Mrs. Hill."

XXX

_Jane Edna Peabody and Jim Hearst's wedding is more fully detailed in La Vie En Rose, chapter 7 of the fic From Spinster to Wife. Those who previously read Remembering River City may recall just why it meant so much to Harold to see Marian wearing that coral silk crepe chiffon dress in the midst of their erotic scheme._


End file.
